Oft on that latest star of purest light,
That hovers on the verge of morning gray,
I gaze, and think of eyes that gleam'd as bright,
As fondly linger'd, and yet pass-d away.

While this true heart in every throb can tell
'Tis changeless since the first fond hour we met-
While at thy name it wakes, as to a spell,
I feel 'tis not in nature to forget!

Thou canst not have forgot the tender hour
When we our parting tears together shed;
Thou canst not have forgot the fading flower
That ask'd thy hand to raise its drooping head.

Thy voice, thy looks, thy sighs, too truly spoke-
Oh! how could they deceive thyself and me?
No! death alone the bond of truth has broke,
And cast oblivion on the world and thee!